Cry, Detective, As This Is Your Fault
by Sir Ross
Summary: A stray bullet fires from Vodka's gun. To achieve something, you have to sacrifice something. And Conan pays more than he should have. No refunds.


I wish Detective Conan had an episode where Conan just **lets it all out**.

I'd like to see his face when he cries.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"CONAN-KUN!" <em>**Ran screams, struggling in Gin's grip around her neck.

**Bang.**

Ouch.

Blood blossomed on Conan's right blue sleeve.

Ran faints.

**"Uaggh!"** Conan clutched at his dominant arm, tumbling head-first onto the stone floor.

"Kudo!" A certain detective of the West yelled. Some of the FBI members that didn't know him very well, other than the fact that he, Edogawa Conan, age 7, helped the FBI in investigating a Black Organization member in the past, gasped. He caught Haibara in an expression of shock from behind Hattori.

_Damn it, Hattori, I told you not the call me that in public!_

But no one had paid the Osakan's call any attention, all that anyone knew at the moment was that **_they_ **shot an innocent—_but very intelligent _grade schooler with a **gun**.

Conan heaved unsteadily, managing not to choke in any of the dirty dust clumps on the floor. Having a bullet wedged somewhere in his right arm, and definitely not being in the most comfortable position laying on the hard, cold concrete surface wasn't really all that fun.

_No. Stop complaining. Get your act together. This is the last battle! Endure the pain, we'll take them down and return to the Detective Agency.. Sit down and eat lunch.. Laugh and talk with... ... _

_He laughs at what encouraging lies he told himself to stay alive later at the funeral._

_At the funeral._

_Ran._

From the corner of his blue eyes, he could manage to see Gin, Vodka, Vermouth, Bourbon and Ran in Gin's clutches on the one other shadowed side of the warehouse. Haibara was standing behind Hattori, eyes wide and trembling while clenching the edge of Heiji's jacket firmly. She was wearing a mask, to prevent **_them _**from seeing her. But Conan had a feeling that the scene in front of them would be a final conclusion to the long war, so whether you had a disguise or not wouldn't matter. It would be arrest them or be killed here. _Yes. This is it. The end is creeping closer.. This is the final battle! Pull through... But they have the joker._

_Ran._

It was an illegal trade, drugs and such with a random dealer. The day before this happened, Conan had managed to pin down the location and assisted the FBI to the warehouse. He had planned that they would ambush the Black Organization **_successfully_**, but things don't usually go as planned. As a result of some FBI drone's blunder, he had gotten a bullet in his right arm and now _**they** _had Ran as a hostage.

How she ended up here he didn't even know, even though he was a detective. Had she hidden herself in the trunk of the car again because she was worried about him? Had she followed him here because she couldn't suppress the concern she had for the de-aged detective?

If that was it, then this would be **_his_ **fault. It would be his fault that **_they _**had Ran at their mercy.

With what little strength he had left in his small body, he managed to push himself back up onto his feet after multiple attempts.

"Cool Kid, don't move! You're injured!" Jodie-sensei warned, trying to take a step towards Conan.

"Don't take another step!" Gin booms, and holds up the gun closer to Ran's head. Conan could see Vermouth slightly flinch. Amuro—_no _Bourbon just merely watched, a faltering smirk playing on his lips. It would seem to be that he would be the next best wild card from **_them_** besides Vermouth.

_What.. 40 FBI reinforcement members, and not _**_one _**_dares to make any movement. _He knew Ran was a hostage and all, but not one person showing any sign of making a move.. Meaning no one knows what to do or if they should try to interfere. Because they have a hostage. Someone could die. Ran is a hostage. Ran could die.

"Vermouth, bring those cans of gasoline here." The black attired silver hair instructed. _Gasoline..? Don't tell me they plan to.. _

Before Gin could retort, Conan staggered on his left leg shifting slowly towards **_them_**, gripping his bleeding right arm tightly with his other.

Gin's gun pointed at Ran to Conan. "_I_ said—Don't **_move!_**"

Conan closed his eyes, grimacing for the impact. _Sorry Ran._

_**Bang—ang. Clang.**_

_'Clang?'_

The shrunken detective opens his eyes. Not dead._  
><em>

He doesn't know what happened, why he isn't dead, what that clanging sound was, but he knows one thing. The silver haired tyrant is distracted. Astonished. Shocked. Frozen.

Conan finds out later that it was Akai that shot the bullet with a _bullet _and saved him. _(Of course, this is expected from Japan's best sniper)_ He screams at Akai later at the hospital. If he hadn't shot that bullet and let Conan die..

Ran would still be..

..

..

"Wha—?!" Gin stares at something on the floor, and it's too late to notice the flashing soccer ball flying at him in lightning speed.

The innocent looking children's ball that was just recently used as a weapon to knock out a silver haired sinister high ranked criminal organization member named Gin, bounces from said one's face and smacks Vodka's as well. The fatter black clothed man tumbles backwards, sunglasses flying off to some unknown dusty corner. The unconscious Ran lays on the floor in an awkward position, but it doesn't matter, she's alive.

Ran is alive. And they're both down. Conan won. It felt good.

Vermouth and Bourbon are quickly apprehended afterwards. Conan doesn't really remember. He feels numb, something tingled within him, something bad was about to happen. _But what is it?! _A sniper? Chinati? No.. The Black Organization sniper had commited suicide with her own gun when they'd chased her down in a van. It's nothing. Nothing can go wrong now, Gin is unconscious next to Ran and Vodka is groaning. But not unconscious.

_He regrets not putting more strength into that kick later._

Vermouth and Bourbon, they don't move at all when the FBI runs at them and pins them down. Maybe they gave up. After all, they were the wild cards. Maybe they wanted this. Conan doesn't know.

It wouldn't matter anyways when he reminiscences a few days after at the funeral.

Conan wishes he could've taken a picture of Gin's comical bloodied face that would forever etch onto his memories. Except for the next event that occurs right after he knocks them out.

_When he thinks back to this day, the day when he took down two of the most dangerous Black Organization members, he regrets he ever did. Because what he did is the cause of Ran's death._

It was victory. Ran was still alive. He thought he'd won, because Ran was still alive. He thought he finally brought them down. Ran was still alive. The boss battle was won, and Ran was still alive. But of course, in achieving something, you have to sacrifice as well.

So of course, there was a small churn in his stomache, a feeling that something very terrible would occur next.

What happens next happens in slow motion, so slow he could keep his eyes on the stray bullet that fired from Vodka's gun to Ran's unconscious body's head.

He could see it all. He **_saw_ **it fly and sink in Ran's skull, forever letting her sleep, so.. Why couldn't he stop it..?

Everything stops.

One last—**_BANG!_**

**_"RAAAAAAAAANNNN!"_**


End file.
